Father Ignacio was the keeper and master of his parish, and he controlled his flock with fear of fire and damnation. Fear was a tasty emotion to the old priest, one that could feed him forever. He was not what he seemed, but true monsters seldom were.

The orphanage that fell under his dominion was no exception to his influence; the fear of the orphans was palpable and fed his dark soul. Father Ignacio was a creature of darkness hiding within under a cloak of righteousness, a vampire as dark and ancient as any in the world.

John lived an invisible life, in a selfless moment he stepped out the shadows.

John Andrews passed through life as invisible as possible. His early memories were difficult living with unhappy parents who frequently took out their unhappiness on him. Emotionally scarred instead of lashing out, John retreated into himself. Blend in, don’t make a fuss, make sure not to stand out be invisible. Unfortunately, the necessities of survival disconnected him from the rest of the world as well.

Walking down those steps, of the little house that'd been my sanctuary, was one of the hardest things I'd ever done. It didn't help that I was naked as the day I was born either. The aliens didn’t wear clothes although Doc wondered if that would change when the weather got colder. Scouts had seen some wearing protective garments when it made sense to. They simply didn't seem to care to be clothed otherwise.

Part of my camouflage was the box in my arms. During my vigil, I'd seen them searching for portable home electronics, such as cell phones, music players and such. Finding enough to fill my box I was easy. The Berretta 92F hidden in the bottom was insurance because androgynous female drone or not, I wasn't nobody's fool.

Standing back from the window, so I wouldn't be seen, I stared outside using my binoculars. Studying how the aliens moved and their facial expressions, I practiced in the mirror. It had to be absolutely perfect so I would fit in.

Food was running low, and making midnight supply runs was proving more and more difficult. I was running out of options, and had no choice, but to make a brazen public appearance to get what I want. In theory, if I kept my mouth shut I should pass.

Turning to the mirror, I'd paid that price. While the rest of the world was being re-made, I'd mostly escaped, mostly. My body was completely hairless, and was androgynous as a 10 year old boy. At least I still had eyes, ears, a nose and mouth. Sighing, I didn't want to admit even that had been taken away from me. It was debatable that I was lucky or not in stumbling into that walk-in freezer.

Into the jaws of death the Knight rode. Before him, the early morning fog lingered over the burnt remains of the entrance to the vale. There no signs that once a village had prospered within those borders.

“Might I ask what you think you’re doing?” A voice out of nowhere rumbled like thunder.

Steadfastly, the Knight ignored the unseen Beast’s question. He’d hoped to surprise the monster as it left it’s lair to feed. Now that he’d been spotted far too early, that advantage was lost. He looked for the monster, but saw naught. Keeping to his task, he picked out the best path to its cave for he and his destrider to begin their charge.

Have all you high fantasy fans out there ever wondered about other explanations when it was you read that the Witch-king, demon or whatever the baddie is would not fall "by the hand of man?" I have.

No Man’s Hand
By
Grover
1/7/2011

Their brave company had accomplished the impossible. The antidote to cure Good King Phillip was in their hands. Now all they had to do was get it back to the Kingdom, but time was not on their side.

The insidious poison Lord Night used to cut down the King could only be slowed, while the antidote could only be made from the same rare flowers that the deadly poison was brewed. It took the intrepid heroes days of hard travel to reach the dread Lord’s keep, and bold action bordering on insanity to enter that terrifying garden of death to harvest those frightful blooms.